


Golden Opportunity

by BadTemptress



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Deals, Eventual Smut, F/F, Flirting, Groupies, Humor, Party, Thievery, slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:48:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28914117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadTemptress/pseuds/BadTemptress
Summary: Bangalore doesn't interact with fans, but Loba Andrade and her generous offer for five minutes of her time has her bending that rule.(Granted, it nearly got her killed.)Slight AU in which Revenant never joined the games, so Loba never had an incentive to join either and instead admires what she sees on the TV.
Relationships: Loba Andrade/Bangalore | Anita Williams
Comments: 11
Kudos: 67





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to this small three part story I have! I tried to stick as close to canon as possible, but it still ended up being a small deviation.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Golden Opportunity**

Bangalore never slept with the groupies.

Full stop, no arguments. No opinions. That was a fact. Lifeline and Mirage lived in the same apartment block she does, and she would see man and woman alike leave their bedrooms; never the same person, always with an autograph or some sort of merchandise in their hand as they hurried down the hallway. Bangalore wasn’t like that. It just wasn’t her style. If someone wanted to come and throw themselves at her, then that was their problem; she wasn’t there to entertain aside from killing people in a blood sport and— on a bad day— be killed.

Bangalore whiffed a punch, sending herself off balance and scrambling for purchase on her dumbbell rack. She sighed and stood straight, rolling back her sweaty shoulders. That was enough for the day. She strapped off her boxing gloves and hung them on the hook next to her bag. Her upstairs neighbor stopped banging for a moment, as if testing to see whether or not she would continue, but once they realized she was done they stopped as well. Bangalore sneered, drying herself off with a towel and heading for her shower. If the management didn’t want noise complaints, then they shouldn’t have had a hook meant for a bag installed into every ceiling.

The hot water washed off all the aches and sweat, and she stepped out in time to hear the doorbell ringing throughout her apartment. Hurriedly throwing on her basic t-shirt and shorts, Bangalore rushed for the door, looked out the peephole, and opened it to Lifeline’s irritated face.

“Yuh done now?” She said, crossing her arms like she expected some sort of explanation. Bangalore stared blankly at her. Lifeline lived next to her, her bedroom directly next to the wall of her living room.

“Today, yes.” Bangalore said.

“T’ink yuh can hang that t’ing somewhere else? Can barely hear my drums over yuh.”

“I can’t hear myself think when you’re getting banged by any fan that so much as looks at you.” Bangalore said.

Lifeline rolled her eyes, “Nunya business what I do. Maybe if yuh had someone to snuggle at night yuh’d be less sensitive to tha sound of people havin’ fun.”

“Don’t knock on my door again,” Bangalore said. She closed it before Lifeline could say anything and sighed, shaking her head as she headed back for her bedroom. She needed to get to the firing range today. Skills were getting rusty again.

—

Bangalore loved winning the games; she hated the after parties that came with the victory. As she sat there in her too-tight formal wear, stirring her too-weak drink, she wished she had some form of escape other than pretending to be sick and leaving. Even then, that was barely an option; the after parties were meant for talking with potential sponsors, to obtain contracts that earned a little extra money to represent whatever the sponsor was noted for. Bangalore hated dealing with them almost as much, but any money was a help to going home. It was a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things, even if she hated every second she was there.

The only problem was, she hadn’t been approached at all tonight. Which was to be expected— Bangalore certainly wasn’t the most approachable out of all the legends. It made the whole thing a waste of her time, however, to sit at a round table surrounded by sweaty bodies and over-dressed clowns, all for someone rich to come and talk to her about whatever special socks they might be peddling. She finished off the rest of her drink and glanced around the large dining room. There were many tables spaced around the room, all meant to seat four, all filled up with either legends or press or others. All except hers. Bangalore glanced to the bar behind her, eying the top-shelf filled with expensive alcohols. She might need something stronger if she was forced to sit here any longer. No one wanted to be the one to come to the IMC soldier to represent their product. Most days, Bangalore was fine with that. Today, she was annoyed.

“You alone often?”

A woman slid into the seat beside her, too-dolled up and too-dressed up for Bangalore to be happy to see her. Scoffing, she sipped her drink and ignored the woman, staring off into space elsewhere. There was a giant monitor on one of the walls playing highlights from the games; she took entertainment in watching herself kraber Octane from 500 meters away.

“You must be, since you don’t like to talk much.” The woman said, but there was humor in her voice. Bangalore glanced to the side in time to see her wave over a bartender and order something. Great, that meant she wasn’t leaving. Bangalore scooted her chair an inch away and faced her body towards the monitor, trying to send every signal in the book that she didn’t want to talk. She didn’t care what this lady had to say, what she was offering, or anything. She knew her type just from her appearance; someone who wasn’t told ‘no’ enough, who’s used to batting her baby browns and getting people to fall over for her.

“You certainly had quite the victory there, Bangalore. 1 against 9, three whole squads, all felled by your hand. I certainly enjoyed watching,”

Bangalore sneered into her cup. Great, a fan. There wasn’t a night where she didn’t have to deal with at least one.

“Whatever you’re offering, I don’t want it.” Bangalore muttered.

A small laugh, “Offering? What if it was a million credits?”

“Like you’d have that amount.” Bangalore set her drink down and turned to Loba, ready to tell her to piss off when instead the woman stuck her hand out.

“Loba Andrade, art connoisseur and trend-setter for fashion. Not like you’d know that, since you look like your _mamãe_ dressed you.”

Bangalore couldn’t help but look down at her attire. Black dress shirt, black slacks, black shoes. What was so bad about that? Scoffing, Bangalore made a move to get up when a hand took hold of her wrist, long manicured nails digging slightly into the skin.

“Entertain a girl for a little longer? I am quite the fan, with quite the proposition.”

Bangalore grunted, yanking her wrist out of Loba’s grip, “You aren’t a girl, you’re a woman— a vain one at that if you think I’ll look at you for another second. Leave me alone.”

And rather than get offended and rush off in a huff like most of her fans did, instead Loba smiled and laughed, controlled enough that it would be considered ‘television’ worthy. It was obviously practiced, and that made Bangalore somewhat confused. Any fan that approached her was a nobody, and nobodies didn’t have televised persona’s peeking out in social interactions. What did this chick want?

“Ten seconds. Go.” Bangalore said, sitting back down.

“Thirty. I’m not a fast talker.”

“There goes four seconds.”

“Aren’t you a busy woman?”

“And done. Thanks for wasting my time.” 

Bangalore tried to get up again, but once more Loba grasped her, this time pulling her back down onto her chair. She flashed her another smile and scooted out so she could face her fully. Her dress had a slit in the leg, and when she crossed one over the other it exposed the rich brown skin of her bare thigh. Bangalore bit the inside of her cheek, wondering if it was anything intentional. From the look of Loba, it probably was.

“No need to be in a hurry, Bangalore. I know you have nowhere else to go, what with you being estranged from both your family and any legend that tries to make friends with you. Unless of course, you have a date?” Loba raised an eyebrow, an action that the side of Bangalore’s face twitched. She was silent for way too long, because Loba chuckled and leaned back to accept her drink from the returning bartender.

“Thought not; you aren’t approachable. Not very friendly, either. I’m sure you have taught many people why you don’t meet your heroes.”

“I’m not here to be friendly. I’m here to win.”

“Aww, almost word for word in your first interview. I like a woman that can quote things. Tell me, what did I say to you earlier?”

Bangalore rolled her eyes, “That you’re a fan.” Where was she going with all this?

“Indeed, and that I have a proposition.” Loba purred, scooting further in her chair so she was closer to Bangalore. There was the immediate urge to put more distance between them, but Bangalore ignored it. That might have been the reaction she was looking for. She watched as Loba took a long sip of her drink, slender throat bobbing up and down as she swallowed. It made the wolf tattoo on the side of her neck look animated in a way.

“One appearance, 70,000 credits. At least five minutes of your time,” Loba said, setting her drink down. 

Bangalore struggled to contain her reaction.

“You’re serious?”

“That’s at least double what you win in first place, isn’t it? And that’s after fighting for your life in a bloodsport against 60 other desperate people.” Loba hummed. Her attention was on her drink now as she traced a finger across its rim. Deliberate, she was feigning disinterest. There was some bait that she had thrown out, and now she was waiting for Bangalore, crazed with the thought of that much money, to take it. Nope, she wasn’t going for it.

“It would be tempting if you actually had that amount to give,” Bangalore snorted, grabbing her own drink and finishing it. Loba glanced at her, raising an eyebrow again.

“Oh? You think I don’t?”

“Nope, not unless I see it upfront.”

Loba grinned, “The elusive and known-flake Bangalore, asking for an upfront payment before a major appearance? Now that’s not a potential loss on my end.”

“Take my word, or walk away. I see it upfront, deal is done.” Bangalore husked out. Her patience was wearing thin.

Loba’s smile turned to a smirk, “you don’t even know what your end of the deal is.”

“I know enough to not agree unless I see money upfront.”

There was a glimmer in Loba’s eyes as she reached for a hidden pocket in her dress, pulling out a small clutch purse. Bangalore watched as she rummaged through it, leaning onto the table and glancing from side to side. A credit slip skid across the table and she caught it with her thumb, looking at it. Already filled out. Like Loba had been expecting this response. She should be suspicious— hell, she should outright refuse it— but 70,000 was worth two wins, and Bangalore needed the money. Without a look in Loba’s direction she slipped the card into her pocket.

“Alright, five minutes of my time. All yours, princess.”

“At least,” Loba purred.

Bangalore eyed her suspiciously, “At least.”

The wry smile that spread across Loba’s face made Bangalore shift in her seat, suddenly finding more interest in her empty glass than in Loba.

“It’s a date, then. Goodbye.”

Bangalore’s head shot up, but by then Loba was already across the room and mingling with someone else. Her jaw was open and Bangalore quickly closed it. Date? What did she mean by date? Bangalore quickly pulled the credit slip out of her pocket and turned it over. No address, no number. Nothing. For a while she stared at the yellow and red slip, before thumping her fist onto the table. 

Great. What did she just get herself into?

—

Bangalore spent the entirety of the next week in her apartment, letting loose on her bag and occasionally checking up leads as to her brother’s whereabouts— which always came up empty. It was the way she was used to spending her down time after the games, leaving the firing range for when the pre-qualifiers opened up and she would be in need of honing her skills. She only left the apartment to get groceries and the mail, and that was that. No one to go to, no one to approach her. Exactly how she liked it.

So, when she heard a knock on her door in the middle of one of her sets, she was a little more than annoyed. 

Bangalore knew it wasn’t her upstairs neighbor, as they hadn’t stopped pounding at her ceiling, and from the living room she could hear Lifeline through the other wall, drumming away. Frowning, Bangalore hung her gloves and headed for her door, suspicious. It wouldn’t be the nitwit Mirage, and the syndicate would never send a representative to the legend apartments. Eying the area where she stored her gun, Bangalore glanced through the peephole.

Angular jawline, brown skin, hazel eyes. Loba.

Gritting her teeth, Bangalore opened the door.

“How do you have my ad-” 

Bangalore cut herself short as Loba strolled into her apartment and set a duffle bag down on the floor.

“Put these on,” Loba sang, whipping out her phone. Her acrylic nails clicked against the glass of the screen as she typed.

Bangalore strode over and swiped it from her hands.

“Who the fuck you think you are, barging into my place?” Bangalore husked out.

Loba smiled, “The woman who paid you to make an appearance, that’s who.”

“How did you get my address?”

“I have my ways.”

“You-”

“You need to get dressed. We will be late to the party, otherwise.” She tried moving away, but Bangalore caught her by the wrist and pulled her back. None too softly, and the wince that flashed across Loba’s face made Bangalore’s heart twinge with regret. Still, she kept her composure as best as she could with, well, having a random stranger in her apartment.

“Hold on one sec, princess. You can’t come barging in here-”

“You answered the door.”

“Giving me a duffle bag-”

“Filled with clothes that don’t look like your mother bought it for an orchestra concert you had in primary school”

“And expecting me to follow you to God knows where.” Bangalore finished, ignoring each and every one of Loba’s interruptions. 

Loba crossed her arms, raising a brow, “It’s downtown Solace, beautiful. I’m sure you’ve been at least once.”

Bangalore stared blankly, wondering she should even respond. 

“Don’t tell me you- know what? Doesn’t matter. Get dressed, _linda_ , we’ll be late otherwise and I’m not paying a reservation cancellation fee.”

And with that Loba reached into the bag, pulled out a black dress, and started off towards her hallway, presumably heading to the bathroom. Bangalore found herself staring at the hips swaying back and forth for a moment, before she collected her thoughts and realized what the fuck was happening.

“What do you mean party?!” She called out after Loba.

Loba called over her shoulder as she strutted into the bathroom, “You’ll see!”

In fact, Bangalore did not see, not until they arrived at a restaurant in a transport too fancy for her own tastes and stepped out onto the paved sidewalk leading up to a front entrance that looked like it belonged to a temple. Stained glass windows, pillars with no thought to placement, mosaic paneling. It looked like whichever architect designed the place said ‘fuck it, use what we have in excess’. The sight of it made Bangalore want to gag and go back to her better, more simplistic apartment. There was a moment where she turned to do that, but Loba brushed past her, slinging her handbag over her shoulder and ruffling one of her braids as she headed for the entrance. Bangalore stepped forward, grabbing her arm, taking care to be more gentle this time.

“Hey, wait a second, princess.”

Loba turned around with a smile on her painted lips.

Bangalore ignored the flutter in her stomach, “I need an explanation.”

Though she had been dodging each and every one of her questions in the apartment and in the transport, Loba let out a soft noise that sounded like she was finally ready to explain the job that she paid her for. Bangalore crossed her arms and waited as Loba fished through her purse, golden bracelet jingling around her wrist.

“You will be distracting a crowd for me.”

“What?”

Loba pulled out a pamphlet and showed it off. There was a picture of a dining area, in the very center of it a large, abstract painting that looked like a child drew it. She pointed at it with a somewhat expectant look on her face, but when Bangalore said nothing she rolled her eyes and sighed. She tapped a painted nail on the painting.

“That right there is an original artwork by a long dead artist. As you know, dead artists and pricing tend to have a strong correlation,” Loba explained smoothly. She replaced the pamphlet in her bag for lipstick instead, applying it as she continued for the door.

“And I’m distracting them because-?”

Loba laughed, “What’s one of the first things I told you about myself, hm? Don’t tell me you already forgot.”

“That you're an art consessiour? What, you gonna stand there and talk about the delicacy in his brush strokes? What does that even have to do with me?”

Loba rolled her eyes again, fishing through her purse as she started towards the entrance again, “I’m not going to talk about the brush strokes. I’m going to appraise it.”

“Oh, how fun.”

“Then I’m going to steal it.”

Bangalore stopped in her tracks.

“Excuse me?” She sputtered.

“I don’t suppose I was clear enough? I appraise, you distract, I take, we go. Perfectly understandable.”

The nerve of this woman!

“And I don’t suppose you know that I’m ex-military, right? I’ve thrown plenty of your ilk in jail for much less than some talentless art piece that only rich people can appreciate. You must be some dumbass if you think I’m going along with this.” And yet, by the look on Loba’s face, it seemed that either none of the words were registering, or she didn’t care. It was enough to make Bangalore huff in disbelief, reaching around her waist for the P2020 she had tucked away safely. Looks like it wasn’t paranoid of her to bring it.

Instead of attacking or trying to talk her way out of the situation like others have once done, Loba just sighed and pressed a hand to her temple, speeding up,“No, I’m not a dumbass. I’m a paying customer for your unlikely service— that service being you signing a few autographs for some fans while I take the painting.”

Bangalore growled, “Like hell I’m signing autographs. The only thing I’m going to be doing is putting you into a pair of handcuffs.”

Loba stopped before the door, looking over her shoulder and flashing a seductive smirk. One foot twisted around the other and she started a slow strut towards Bangalore, swaying her hips with each step. Bangalore leaned back when she got close, but couldn’t find herself to do anything about the arms that slung around around her neck. Nothing but pretend it didn’t make her heart leap into her throat.

“Oh, if you so insist, who would I be to turn down the most proficient and attractive Apex Legend having her way with me?” Loba purred.

Bangalore swallowed hard, pushed her away, “Get off me.”

“Let’s go, we’re keeping your other fans waiting.” Loba said. She took hold of Bangalore’s hand and she found herself too flustered to say much about it, allowing herself to be dragged towards the door while her mind raced a mile a minute. Get away from her. Arrest her. Walk away. Yet Bangalore couldn’t get herself to commit to any of those actions, mouth dry as one thought kept echoing over and over again:

_ Is she flirting with me? _


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which murphy's law comes into play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everybody! Thank you all for being patient! We have one more chapter to go and then we'll call this one done :)

The restaurant was large beyond anything Bangalore had seen in Solace before, the dining room in shape of a dome with what seemed like hundreds of tables packed together, all made with imported woods that were probably more expensive than Branthium reserves. Her mouth was agape as she followed Loba in; she had never seen anything this level of fancy or needlessly expensive. It quickly closed, however, at the sight of a waiter approaching them, stylized beard and tuxedo making him almost blend in to the few dozen patrons already seated within the dining room.

“Do you have a reservation?”

Ah, snotty tone, no greeting, immediate asking of reservation. Yes, this was definitely a restaurant on the rich side of town. Bangalore shifted uncomfortably as Loba waved an envelope she had concealed in some pocket of her dress. The waiter hardly spared it a glance, a telltale bored look in his expression telling Bangalore that he was probably about to ask about a reservation again, when his eyes visibly widened and he straightened up fully.

“Ah, Ms. Andrade, I didn’t recognize-!”

“No need for apology, _Lindo_ , I have a talent for blending in.”

Bangalore sneered at that statement, fixating on some other point in the restaurant and tuning out the conversation. Where was the bar? Hell, did they serve any real alcohol around here or was it all expensive wine? Bangalore scratched at her jaw, eyes searching about the restaurant until they landed on a center room leading out of the dining area. From the little she could see past the threshold, the walls where white— a stark contrast from the dark red room they were standing in— and there was a corner of what seemed to be a picture frame. Gallery within a restaurant? Strange. 

“And this is my guest, Ms. Williams. She’s making a number one fan’s wish come true.” Loba purred out. Fingers brushed up against Bangalore’s bicep and it took everything in her power to not jerk away from the touch. Still, she leveled a glare at Loba in an appropriate ‘never-touch-me-again’ way. Loba pretended not to notice.

“Well, Let me not keep you any longer! I’ll show you to the gallery right away!” The waiter turned and zoomed off into the dining room. Loba turned to her, winking and flashing a smile that made Bangalore feel a little weird.

She waved the envelope, “This is empty.”

Bangalore sneered, “Like it came into play.”

“It did. I told him had an invitation.”

“I thought you said you were invited to appraise?”

“I am appraising. I didn’t say I was invited.”

“You-?”

“A smile and a little cleavage can get you anywhere.” Loba said, gesturing to her chest. Bangalore rolled her eyes and followed the hands downward. What a pair of probably fake tits could do to men never ceased to amaze her. How hard was it to look past physical appearance and realize you were taking to some snake with ill intentions? Loba clearly had ulterior motives, clearly was manipulative, and yet the waiter couldn’t see past it. Bangalore would never-

“It’s rude to stare.” Loba said with humor in her voice.

Bangalore’s head snapped up. Wait, was she? 

There was a knowing look on Loba’s face, “Are we ready to go, sergeant?” 

“Let’s just get this over with,” Bangalore growled, pushing past Loba. Her face felt like it was on fire. She attributed it to the fact that the tuxedo she was wearing was stuffy and fixed her collar so it sat loose against her throat.

The art gallery looked like any other Bangalore had been to, and that was very few of them. The walls were all white as to make the art stand out, and the hallways were long and slim. Hard to maneuver and no cover. If this went bad, then they were screwed. Bangalore twitched uncomfortably, hand instinctively reaching for her gun before she forced the behavior to stop. It was just a restaurant, any security here would be minimal and poorly trained. There was no need to be jumpy. She brushed past a man with a tiger tattooed on his neck, following Loba and the waiter from hall to hall. She wasn’t expecting the place to be this crowded. It seemed like there were people everywhere, even more than there was in the dining room.

“And here is our newest piece! A Hardwood original, though I’m sure that will be up to your expertly trained eyes.”

Loba stood in front of the large painting, placing a hand on her chin as she hummed. Her hazel eyes gleamed with something. If Bangalore ahd to take a guess, it was most likely greed. Though she had no idea what worth the painting could have. It looked like a child drew it.

“And where would your curator be? I have inquiries on the pricing.”

The waiter grinned, excusing himself as he disappeared down the hallway.

Bangalore drew closer, “What exactly is the plan here? I see no way for you to make it out of here without being caught, unless you feel like squeezing through that window.”

She was referring to the one in the hallway to the left of where they were standing: barred, 7 feet up, and at least as large as a textbook. 

“You mean us?” Loba looked over her shoulder and batted her eyelashes.

“You. I’m here to distract a crowd and then I’m leaving. I want nothing to do with this.”

Loba pouted, “Aw, I was hoping we could get dinner together. I am your biggest fan.”

“Lady, I have a lot of fans and I couldn’t give a shit about any of them or how they rank themselves in the Bangalore fan club. I'm here with you now because you paid me to be here,” Bangalore let her eyes trail down Loba’s body, “And judging by the look of you, that’s the only way you get any company.”

“Oh, touchy,” Loba laughed. She threw a braid over her shoulder, “I have a plan. You do your part, and I do mine. Plain and simple, I’m sure you can handle that sergeant.”

Bangalore growled, turning back. Several people lined the wall behind them, but they were too engrossed in the works of art to pay them any mind. Who the hell would she be distracting anyway?

As if Loba sensed the question, she started to answer, “Rumor has it, the curator of this museum is a very big fan of the games, and an even bigger one of the legend that calls herself-”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m sure she would love an autograph.”

“I don’t give autographs.”

Hands slid around her shoulders and Bangalore tensed, feeling heat flare across her cheeks. Every instinct screamed at her to move away from Loba, yet she found herself rooted to the spot, hyper—aware of the hands massaging along her traps. They disappeared as soon as they arrived and Bangalore hated to admit she found herself somewhat missing the touch.

“Relax, sergeant. You’ll do wonderfully.”

“Ms. Andrade!”

The voice cut from the direction the waiter had previously left in. Bangalore fought back the urge to look for the source and instead remained staring at the people down the art hall. They weren’t dressed like art affectionados— hell, they weren’t even dressed appropriately for a restaurant as fancy as this. Most of all, they didn’t even seem to be looking at the art with any degree of criticism or admiration; it was as though they were pretending. Frowning, Bangalore turned to Loba, who was talking with a short plump woman dressed immaculately in a pantsuit. A part of her told her warn Loba, but that part was swept up by the louder voice saying simply:

_It’s not your problem._

Bangalore crossed her arms and cleared her throat.

“I’ll admit, I’m not used to being looked over like that,” She said, with all the charm of her in-game appearances— which was none at all.

The curator practically froze, eyes wide as dinner plates as a tremble passed through her hands. Little by little she turned face Bangalore and her face was plastered with all the pathetic star-struckness of an overly obsessed fan.

“Bangalore? Ms. Bangalore from the Apex-? Oh, oh please! Excuse my rudeness, madam, I didn’t recognize you without your usual cos- oh, my, am I dreaming? I feel like I’m dreaming,” She let out a hearty laugh as she fanned herself with a manicured hand. Bangalore had to admit, there was a certain cuteness about the curator that made her soften up. She reminded her of her aunt.

“Ms. Andrade and Ms. Bangalore in the same room with me? Oh I would have never guessed that’s how today would go!” Another hearty laugh, one that Loba joined with a giggle that sounded too plastic to be real. Bangalore chanced a smile and, with every ounce of willpower she could muster, held her hand out.

“Good to meet you, I always… enjoy the presence of a fan,” Bangalore forced out.

The curator excitedly took hold. Firm handshake. Bangalore glanced up and saw Loba fleeting about the art-piece, looking over it with a critical eye that belonged to a thief. It made disgust roll through her stomach and she returned her gaze to the art curator.

“Ms. Andrade is a fellow one.” Bangalore added.

“Oh, did you two come in together?”

Bangalore almost grimaced at the question. Tread that one carefully; the last thing she wanted was a few misplaced words being twisted into a story of a love affair in the Solace media. Her Syndicate-assigned PR agent already had enough of a headache trying to deal with her slip-ups and ‘un-public figure like behaviors.’

“A coincidence, actually. Ms. Andrade approached me while I was heading into the restaurant.” The curator still hadn’t let go of Bangalore’s hand, so she found herself trying to pull away as politely as possible. Thankfully, she got the message and seemed to be too excited to blabber about her mistake.

“I’d say, Ms. Bell, this is a piece worth twice the asking price,” Loba’s voice cut in. The curator— Ms. Bell— turned and so did Bangalore. Loba was tapping a finger on her chin, eyes drawing over the painting again and again. With the back of her nail, she traced it over the price tag.

“It’s a crime to sell a piece like this for less than what it is worth.”

“Is that so?” Ms. Bell said, and Bangalore could practically see the dollar signs in her eyes as she strode to Loba, momentarily forgetting about her.

Loba nodded and flashed a winning smile at Ms. Bell, then at Bangalore. Damn, why was it so hot in this building?

“I’d say if you had a label maker, you’d do well to change the price. No need for someone to find a bargain in such a fine establishment.” 

The curator mimicked Loba’s chin-tapping, “I’d suppose… it wouldn’t be too much trouble. Excuse me for a moment.”

With all the speed of someone knowing they are handling a cash cow, Ms. Bell was off down the hall. Hands pressed up against her shoulders again, but this time Bangalore had a mind to shrug them off and shoot a glare at Loba.

“Touch me again and see what happens,” Bangalore snapped.

Loba smiled, “good things, I hope.”

“No.”

“Once she comes back and gets that label on the piece, you’ll wrap her up in a nice little conversation, and I’ll finish up my end.”

“Yeah, and now that she’s seen your face and knows that you were the last one near the art piece, you’ll be picked up half-way down the street by enforcers.” Bangalore said. Loba let out a laugh and flipped a braid again.

“Bangalore, you really think a master thief would leave a blank space on the wall and a mile of clues in her tracks?” Loba reached into a portion of her dress and pulled out a roll of canvas way too big to reasonably fit in there.

Bangalore furrowed her brow, “How did you-?”

Clicking heels down the hallway brought both their attention back to Ms. Bell, hurrying her way to the painting with a price label and sticker in hand. Loba quickly re-deposited the canvas into whatever pocket she had managed to pull it out of.

“Let’s go ahead and take care of this,” she said absently-mindedly, writing the new price quote on the label and signing her name beneath it. She pressed it on the corner of the painting and slapped the sticker next to it. A smile crawled its way across Loba’s face. It made Bangalore feel like gagging.

“So, how long have you been curating for?” Bangalore asked with no small amount of effort. She almost shivered when Ms. Bell turned to her with that star-struck look again.

“Curatoring? Oh, it’s my passion! It was the first thing I studied for once I completed secondary school, and then entered the field almost immediately after—y’know as a janitor at first, because what good does a degree do you? Oh, I remember the first time I was ever promoted to a higher position, It was the best day of my life—aside from this one, of course! But I could remember the exact painting I first approved for appraisal, and the— oh, Ms. Andrade, tell me which—”

Ms. Bell started to turn and, panicked, Bangalore shot forward and grasped her wrist, drawing a shocked gaze back to her. For a moment she sat there still, feeling her face heat up. 

Shit.

Ms. Bell was blushing just as much, and Bangalore forced herself to keep her grip on her wrist.

“Now, it’s a little rude to address someone else in a conversation they aren’t involved in, isn’t it?” Bangalore said, trying out one of her charming smirks that her PR agent told her to work on. She let go of Ms. Bell’s hand and resisted the urge to rub her palm clean on her pants. 

“O-oh… forgive me Ms. Bangalore, I didn’t-”

A pop rattled through the hallways, deafening and familiar in Bangalore’s ears. Old habits kicked in hard and she grabbed onto Ms. Bell, taking her to the ground to shield her. It was only after they landed that a second pop sounded and she felt a searing pain in her side, the telltale warmth of blood seeping down her ribs.

_“Get that bitch!”_

The voice snapped through the air along with another gunshot. With blurring eyes Bangalore glanced to the side and saw the art patrons, all armed, all taking aim at—

Loba.

Bangalore let out a rasp of pain as she reached for her holster, drawing her gun and firing at one of the patrons. His face exploded into a bloody mess and he whipped back with the force of her bullet. Dark hair, tattoo on his neck. Bangalore got off Ms.Bell and pressed a hand to her side with a pained hiss. Little by little she forced herself on shaking legs, adrenaline making her momentarily ignore the sound of whizzing bullets and yelling.

 _Fuck._ This hurt so much worse without pain-dampeners.

“Get over here sergeant!” Loba’s voice cracked beside her ear. Bangalore found enough in her to feel relief at the sound of Loba. She ducked and rushed to the corner Loba had took cover behind and a gunshot took the hearing out of her left ear. Brown eyes glanced to the side. Loba had a rifle. Where the fuck did she get a rifle?!

“What else you have in that dress?” Bangalore grunted out, raising her gun again as she fired a few shots blindly around the corner. She searched the floor for Ms. Bell, but she was nowhere to be seen. Safe, hopefully.

“I’ll be glad to show you if we survive this!” Loba shouted. She scanned over her with focused eyes, which went wide at the sight of the bloody suit jacket she was now sporting. “You’re hurt.” 

Bangalore grunted. She peeked her head around the corner. 7 men. All dressed in trench coats with matching tattoos on their necks. All rapidly advancing on them She ducked her head to avoid a bullet, extended her gun, and reduced that number to 6 with a well-aimed shot to the stomach. Thankfully, the new death sent the others into a panic as they took several steps back. It wouldn’t last long. They would start advancing again.

“I’ll be fine.” Bangalore said. Was she lying? Nah, the bullet wasn’t deep enough, otherwise she’d be lying dead on the floor already. These pieces of shits probably couldn’t afford anything better than a .22 caliber. However, how deep it was didn’t matter to how the body naturally functioned.

“I will, however, probably go into shock soon, so let’s finish this up, princess.”

“Agreed.” Loba poked out of her corner with the rifle again, fired off a few shots, and returned with a gash across her cheek and a new hole in her dress that had just barely missed the thigh. Bangalore waited with bated breath, silence having fallen through the hall. She swung around and took aim and immediately yelped as a bullet tore into her bicep and forced her to drop the gun, misfiring into the ceiling. Three men remained and they were approaching fast. Bangalore couldn’t even pick up her gun again before a hand grabbed onto hers and started to tug her down the exhibition hall. There was still nothing but paintings, so no cover. The moment those guys rounded the corner they’d be—

Several more appeared down the hallway.

“ _Loba, you fuck!_ ” One of them yelled out. He had to be the big boss; he wore a hat and everything. Loba pressed a hand to her chest, pushing her back as she glanced from forward to behind them. Bangalore gritted her teeth, wincing at the pain throbbing through her. She instinctively tried to check her gun’s ammo, realized it was gone, and then resigned herself to the fact that, yep, she was probably going to die today.

“All the shit you’ve stolen from me,” The big boss continued. He was advancing down the hallway, his lackeys following with grins on their faces and rifles at the ready. “I’m gonna string you up and drain ya vessels dry.”

“That sounds lovely,” Loba said, then glanced at her “Hold on to me.”

Bangalore grunted as Loba seized hold of her arm, “Why should I-?”

With the sound of a whoosh, they were outside on a concrete rooftop that overlooked the restaurant. 

“Hold… on?” Bangalore finished. How the hell- what kind of-? Every question ceased its formation as pain lanced through her arm and side. Teeth grit together. Bangalore clutched her burning bicep. Blood seeped out from between her fingers, and between that and her ribs her vision was starting to get hazy and she had to take a knee to keep herself from falling over. A grunt sounded from above her. Loba let go of her arm and messed around with her dress, pulling out a staff with a wolf head on top of it from a fold of fabric.

“Hang in there, a restaurant would surely have a med-kit lying about.” Loba muttered. She stabbed the staff into the ground and watched as it expanded and filled out with a blue glowing diamond. Bangalore watched as Loba searched through it, before reaching in and pulling out— ah, now the rifle made sense. Loba opened the med kit and withdrew the emergency syringe, loading it with healing gel and grasping onto her arm. Bangalore watched the nozzle press to her wrist. With a click and a hiss, the needle stabbed into her flesh and expelled the healing gel.

“I wasn’t expecting that to happen,” Loba said, focused on getting every bit of the syringe into Bangalore, “I didn’t think there would be a gang protecting the exhibit. Ugh, they probably caught wind of the painting as well and assumed I would be there.

“Or maybe they didn’t want you stealing anymore of their shit.” Bangalore growled out.

Loba rolled her eyes, “It isn’t theirs. Just because they wanted to steal it first doesn’t make it their property. Are you feeling okay?”

Bangalore highly doubted the concern was real.

“Extra 5000 for every shot I took.”

Loba finally looked at her. There was a trail of blood leading from the gash in her cheek to below the collar of her dress, a look that— if Bangalore had to guess— more closely matched her personality than all the dresses and caked makeup she liked to adorn herself in. A wide grin spread across Loba’s face as she let out a laugh that was genuine. It had a light air around it and ended in a snort that made Bangalore want to… damn, that syringe was making her head all fuzzy.

“Alright, fair enough.” Loba said after she quieted down, a small smile having settled on her face.

“I still don’t understand why you needed me for this job,” Now that the syringe had healed the damage up, Bangalore could feel nothing but irritation. She didn;t get shot for just anybody, and here this woman was making her do it for what? A painting that even a kindergarten would call a piece of garbage? Shots rang out from below and both Loba and Bangalore flinched, glancing to the restaurant beside the rooftop they had taken refuge on. Looks like security finally got off their asses and arrived at the party.

“I suppose you being here was more of an… optional thing.” Loba said.

Bangalore groaned, “Of course it was.”

“I couldn’t pass up a meeting with my favorite legend.”

“Of course you couldn’t.”

“I was only going to be in Solace for so long.”

“Of course you are.”

 _“Look_ , I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting-”

Bangalore shook her head, pinching her temple and raising her hand up to signal she wanted her quiet, perfectly done with her now-repaired bicep.

“Did you at least get the painting?” This whole thing had better be worth it, was the unsaid sentence.

Loba smiled, reaching into her staff and tugging out a rolled piece of canvas. She shook it at Bangalore, “Of course, I had already replaced it before you even finished asking Ms.Bell about curating.”

Bangalore pretended not to be impressed with that revelation. She stood onto shaky feet and gently felt her side. No wound. A low groan was let out as she twisted to pop her back, pausing at one moment to watch the building. Below on the streets, screaming people were running out of the entrance, but the gunfire had ceased. No duty to go back in and finish the job, Bangalore supposed. She leveled a glare at Loba and felt at her holster.

“You owe me a new gun.”

“Please, don't squeeze any more money out of me. Take one look in my market and I’m sure you will find it.”

It took a few moments for Bangalore to realize she was referring to the staff, but when she did she hesitantly approached it and looked in. Damn, what kind of technology is this? It was like a kaleidoscope, each surface of the diamond showing off a different room within the restaurant. She looked for the one that the shootout had occurred in and, upon finding it, paused before reaching in to retrieve her gun. A dead security officer laid amongst the bodies of the gang members. Handcuffs hooked into his belt. Eyebrows furrowed together as Bangalore made a reach for the gun. It disappeared from the kaleidoscope and appeared directly in front of her; no hologram, just gently floating in the middle of the staff. Bangalore grabbed it. Still had the same heft it always did.

“Do I even want to ask where you got this technology from?”

“Maybe not.”

“Or the one that managed to teleport us to this building?”

“Also a no.”

Bangalore let out a sigh and reached back into the staff, selecting the handcuffs. It appeared in front of her and she took that as well.

“Look, I don’t have any credits on me, but I’ll be sure to wire them to you if you would be inclined to trade some account-”

Loba went quiet as the first cuff snapped onto her wrist. Shocked hazel eyes looked up into hers. Bangalore didn’t hesitate to throw the other cuff around the gate of the air-conditioning unit that they had landed beside. Bangalore stepped back to look at her handiwork, while Loba slowly snapped out of her stupor and began to smile.

“Sergeant, if you wanted a little more out of me, you should have said so,” She purred.

Bangalore resisted a shudder, “Please. You’re gonna wait here while I get enforcers. That sound pleasant to you?”

Loba hummed, clicking her nails against the gate her hand was now latched to, “What is more pleasant to me, is if you were to take advantage of this precarious position I’m in and show me just how angry you are.”

God, is horny and conniving the only two moods Loba has?

“No chance, I don’t sleep with groupies.”

“Groupie? Aw, I thought we had more of a bond than that. I did save you.”

“From a situation _you_ got me into. Besides, I get saved by other legends all the time and you don’t see me dropping my pants for them. You aren’t as special as you like to think,” Bangalore said, pulling out her phone and dialing into the local enforcer agency. She’d be glad to be rid of Loba before the end of the night, because she really, really needed a drink. The phone started to ring when a hand grasped onto her wrist and the other plucked the phone from her. Bangalore rolled her eyes. She really was a pain in the— _wait how did she use two hands?_

“Look,” Loba said, swinging the handcuffs with one hand as she ended the call with the other, “We got off the wrong foot, sergeant. I did truly want to meet you, hell, the only thing that kept me from acting like that curator was my own self-respect. I’ll admit the way I went about it wasn’t the best, but-”

“Give me my phone back,” Bangalore made a reach for it, but Loba effortlessly sidestepped the attempt.

“There is something about you so alluring compared to the other legends. Your secrecy, your aloofness-”

“Give me my phone!” Bangalore lunged and Loba, as if she weren’t wearing a pair of five-inch heels, danced around her, still blabbering about whatever irrelevant observations she made about her.

“Genuinely, looking at you does something to my heart. Also to my groin, but we can save that one for the second date.”

“This isn’t a date you-!”

Bangalore managed to grab hold of Loba’s arm and tug her back, leading her to fall into her chest and Bangalore to lose her balance as she struggled to keep them both upright. Once the risk of falling was averted, she glared at Loba and plucked the phone from her hand.

“You’re insane.” Bangalore growled.

Loba smiled at her, “And your hand is on my breast.”

Bangalore glanced down and jerked away, taking a few steps back and hitting the half wall of the rooftop. Clicking heels drew closer in front of her and she looked ahead again, watching swaying hips as Loba approached her.

“Sergeant, I know you’re wanting. You’ve been getting flustered by me all night.”

“I don’t get flustered.”

Loba threw her arms around her. Cradled her jaw with a manicured hand as she drew so close Bangalore could feel her breath ghost across her face. For some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to pull away from it, nor look away from those entrapping hazel eyes.

“One night, sergeant, and you never hear from me again,” Loba murmured.

“I already gave you a night.”

Loba let out a breathy laugh, “Your hands are on my hips.”

Bangalore didn’t realize it until Loba said it, but she still couldn’t bring herself to move her hands. She was far too focused on Loba’s face, on those sharp cheekbones dusted lightly with a blush, her eyes, her full, painted lips. The angular jawline that led down to a slender throat. Who gave God the right to make a woman this pretty? Why was she thinking these things?

“You’re staring, sergeant.”

Bangalore scoffed, “In disbelief.”

“With admiration,” Loba purred.

“There’s nothing admirable about a thief.”

“That so? You’ve been staring so much at my assets that I would have thought otherwise.”

“You’re delusional.” Bangalore growled.

“And you’re in denial.” Loba murmured. She brushed her cheek across hers as she rested her head on Bangalore’s shoulder. Bangalore could feel her heart thudding in her chest, and her palms were starting to slick with sweat. It was the after-effects of adrenaline. Everyone got a little horny after a near death experience. It meant nothing. She certainly wasn’t attracted to Loba and she certainly wasn’t considering inviting her back to her apartment.

…

…

No, no she wasn’t. Not one bit.

…

…

Fuck it.

“Remember how to get back to my place?”

She felt Loba tense in her arms, and when she raised her head she looked a little more than shocked.

“To drop you off?” Loba said, but there was a hopeful tone in her voice.

Bangalore had to fight back the grimace she wanted to make, “You got one night, princess. Make it count.”

The grin that spread across Loba’s face was almost infectious.

“I thought Ms. Bangalore didn’t sleep with groupies?” Loba said.

“Ms. Bangalore is also running off enough adrenaline to make a leviathan sprint. If I remember any bit of this conversation tomorrow, then I can reconsider my positioning on that. Otherwise, stop pushing it.”

There was a beat of silence between them.

“I’ll call my transport.” 

“That’s what I thought.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
